


Between Belief and Faith

by jinkandtherebels



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-31 02:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21056639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: As a child he used to wake panicking over vague, half-remembered images of blood and deep water.





	Between Belief and Faith

**Author's Note:**

> For Day Four: "Confessions". Hope y'all enjoy!

.

When he was very small he used to cry whenever Shisui’s mother came to take him home. That is what Itachi’s own mother tells him, at least, and he has no reason to disbelieve her.

.

He has nightmares. He has always had them.

As a child he used to wake panicking over vague, half-remembered images of blood and deep water. His chest would hurt afterwards; in those early moments when the dream was still lucid enough to make some sense of, Itachi used to wonder if he’d imagined himself drowning and that was why he woke up in pain.

He’s learned to manage them over the years, but they haven’t gone away. At least once a week he wakes in a cold sweat, terrified of something he can’t quite name. Once—mortifyingly—there had been tears on his face when he opened his eyes.

(Shisui had been there that last time, though thankfully he hadn’t noticed the tears. Half-asleep himself, he’d bundled Itachi up in his arms like they were both still children, and Itachi slept a little easier that night.)

One result has been a long-standing fear of deep water that Itachi will only grudgingly admit to. Its existence is as embarrassing as it is deep-rooted; he has never enjoyed swimming or the ocean, has always designated himself keeper of the bags and towels on family trips to the beach and stayed as far away from the water as possible.

There is no reason for it as far as he can tell. As a child, grasping at straws, he’d once asked his mother if he’d had a near-death experience when he was too young to form real memories. She’d been amused at first, but sobered when she’d realized he was serious.

“No, Itachi,” she said gently. “Nothing bad has ever happened to you by the water. Some fears are just like that.”

_Some fears are just like that_. Itachi accepted her wisdom, folded it up deep in his heart, and resolved not to question it any further.

(For the record Shisui, when asked, had offered a different view.

“Maybe you drowned to _death_ in a past life,” he’d said with an eight-year-old’s relish—which quickly turned to sheepish remorse when his younger cousin burst into tears.

It was another embarrassing moment in a litany of them. To this day Itachi couldn’t say why the idea had upset him so much.)

.

Nightmares, a fear of water—those are reasonable things. Not _rational_, as Itachi irritably reminds himself whenever he ends up losing sleep over visions of fast-flowing rivers, but at least common enough. Certainly more common than having a borderline pathological attachment to one’s best friend.

When they were both little enough to have “play dates” that ended whenever Shisui’s mother came home from work, causing an inevitable ruckus, Itachi’s mother would smile and both parents would exchange indulgent looks. Wasn’t it sweet that they cared about each other so much, that the thought of never seeing each other again was such a constant worry?

(As he remembers it, there was a time when Shisui would get just as upset at their sudden separation—but they must have been only toddlers then, and in any case Itachi’s never sure if he’s remembering that correctly.)

He is seventeen now. There is no reason for him to feel a stab of—of _something_ when they're apart for long, or when Shisui calls out “Watch this!” before doing something inevitably dangerous and bone-headed.

There is no reason why watching Shisui dive headlong into the ocean with his other friends should make Itachi want to scream.

Maybe, he thinks, it’s only the anxiety that makes him feel this way. He brings the idea up with his therapist and she agrees that it’s a fair possibility.

“Have you ever lost someone like that before?” she asks, gentle and blunt in equal measure. “Suddenly?”

Itachi racks his brain, but the answer to a question like that doesn’t require much time to mull over.

“No,” he says, frustrated with himself. “I have not.”

(It’s the truthful answer. It’s the _truth_.

But then why does it feel like a lie?)

.

The fear of losing someone you love, someone you are very much _in love_ with, is something else Itachi knows to be perfectly reasonable.

But the intensity bothers him. He has no trauma to blame it on, no previous loss to use as his context, and yet the fear is omnipresent. Over the years he’s learned to push it down, just as he used to do with all of his anxious thoughts, but it never goes away. He’s simply resigned himself to carrying it with him.

He doesn’t tell Shisui about any of it—not the worries, nor the ongoing nightmares, nor his own concern that there might be something deeply wrong with him. And he doesn’t tell Shisui when he defers his early acceptance to Harvard, against all common sense and his parents’ wishes, in favor of graduating high school “only” a year early.

(There have always been things he doesn’t tell Shisui. Like the way it sometimes hurts to look at him for no reason Itachi can explain, or that one time his face _changed_ before Itachi’s eyes—it had suddenly seemed older somehow, and his smile had still been warm but his eyes—his _eyes_—

The vision was gone when Itachi blinked. There was no reason for him to talk about it, he told himself. There was no reason for him to think about it at all.)

He knows keeping secrets is hardly a solid foundation for a lasting relationship. But he doubts theirs would last any longer if Shisui decided he was insane.

Because he knows that would be the result if he said any of this out loud. All of his fears boil down to a single impossible _knowing_, congeal into a single impossible question that he refuses to entertain asking:

_When am I going to lose you (again)?_

.

The night before their graduation ceremony, Shisui shows up at his house and announces they’re going on an adventure.

Itachi, who has had ample experience with what Shisui considers to be “an adventure”, is skeptical. But it is their last night before the last summer before all the realities of adult life come crashing down on their heads, so he doesn’t need too much convincing in the end.

Shisui drives with the convertible top down; the wind immediately whips Itachi’s hair into a tangled frenzy but he doesn’t mind much. It’s a beautiful warm night, the sky turning pink as the sun sets, and it promises the advent of summer. One last season before everything changes.

Itachi tries not to wonder what that change will entail.

(Shisui’s future plans have been a source of great exasperation to everyone around him. His grades were good enough to get him into every one of his chosen schools, but as far as anybody knows he’s still breezily dithering between medical school and getting certified to teach swimming lessons at a local gym. His parents have been pulling their hair out; Itachi, for his part, is suspicious that Shisui is going to try and do both at once.)

So preoccupied is Itachi with his thoughts that he doesn’t realize where they’re going until they’re already at the beach. Shisui laughs at the look on his face.

“You weren’t paying attention at all, were you?” he teases.

“Why are we here?” Itachi asks, ignoring him.

Shisui takes his hand. “C’mon.”

Itachi follows, cautious, until Shisui brings him to the very edge of the water. Then he stops short.

Shisui turns to look at him. He doesn’t say anything, but Itachi feels compelled to speak nonetheless.

“I can’t,” he says, hating how weak the words sound.

“You can,” Shisui says. “Here, look.”

He takes another step, still holding Itachi’s hand. Water is rushing over Shisui’s feet, lapping around his ankles, and in the vanishing light it looks almost dark enough to be blood. Bile rises in Itachi’s throat. He’s suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

“Itachi?”

His own name barely registers. His vision is flooded with things he doesn’t want to see—Shisui facedown in a river, blood streaming from his eyes to mix with the water, and the tightness in his own chest, the _pain_—

_I was not the one who drowned_, he realizes in a moment of near-hysteria. Wet laughter bubbles out of his throat as memories that are not his own begin to gain focus.

“_Itachi_.”

This time Shisui’s voice is sharp enough to pull him out of his own head. His hands are gripping Itachi’s arms and Itachi looks up at him, startled.

They are both standing in the water, he thinks distantly, and yet Shisui is still here. They are both here.

It seems as good a time as any for his confession.

“I remember you,” he says, and the words feel like a weight falling from his shoulders.

He waits for Shisui’s expression to twist into something reasonable like confusion or disbelief or fear. He waits for Shisui to let go of his arms and push him away.

Instead, Shisui smiles.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

.

The sky darkens above them, but out on the horizon line the sun is throwing a few last rays of light onto the ocean. The water moves over both of them, up to their knees now, yet somehow Itachi is less afraid. He leans back into Shisui’s chest and watches the waves turn into white foam before disappearing entirely.

“I’m a really strong swimmer, y’know,” Shisui says, his mouth moving against Itachi’s hair. “It’d take more than this to—”

“I know,” Itachi interrupts. There are still things he cannot think about too closely.

“Oh, you _know_.” Shisui’s tone is dry. “So tell me, All-Knowing One, why’d you put off Harvard for a year without telling anyone?”

Itachi almost winces. “I told my parents. My brother.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If I had told you, you would have cautioned me against it.”

“Would I?”

“Yes,” Itachi retorts, “because you would have assumed it had something to do with you.”

“Ouch. Is my head really that huge?”

“You can barely fit it through doorways as it is.”

Shisui huffs a laugh. His breath on the back of Itachi’s neck makes him shiver, thought the night is still warm.

“So, did it?”

“What?” He was distracted again.

“Have something to do with me?”

Itachi opens his mouth to instinctively protest, then stops himself. The old memories aren’t entirely clear yet, but he remembers enough to know that keeping secrets had never gone well for them before.

“Maybe,” he says quietly. “I…I think a part of me was afraid to let you out of my sight.”

“Because of last time?”

Itachi closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything at all. “Yes. Because of last time.”

“Hey.”

Shisui’s voice is gentle. Itachi opens his eyes and twists around to look him in the face.

“I can’t make any promises,” Shisui says. “Shit happens to everybody, but…it’s not gonna be the same as it was. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Itachi rubs at his forehead. “Logically, yes, I do know that. It’s just difficult to remember when—” He looks up sharply, another realization smacking him full in the face. “How long have you known?”

Shisui is sheepish. “Pretty long. I used to have the nightmares too, but they went away after a while.”

“How fortunate for you,” Itachi mutters. “And did you—I mean, do you—”

He doesn’t have the words to say, _have you also been afraid all this time?_ Somehow Shisui understands him anyway, and behind his eyes flickers a darkness that Itachi knows too well.

“How could I not be?” he replies. “I knew I had so damn much to lose.”

He might have more to say but Itachi doesn’t hear it; he pulls Shisui down the extra inch and kisses him, and for a few moments their other lives are of little concern.

.

“What do we do now?” Itachi asks, after.

“Right now?” Shisui pretends to be thoughtful. “What’s your stance on exhibitionism?”

Itachi elbows him in the ribs, aware that it loses some of the sting when his face is as flushed as it is. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. And I also know you take everything too seriously, ‘tachi.” Shisui shrugs. “Now? I guess we go to college or we don’t, we stop remembering shit or we don’t, we stay together or we don’t. It’s all up to us.”

“And—” Itachi swallows hard. “Do you have any preference as to which?”

Shisui grins like he knows exactly what Itachi’s asking. “Only on that last one. What about you?”

Itachi considers. Maybe Shisui is right in saying that he takes things too seriously, but all the same—

“I don’t want to forget,” he says. “About the last time.”

“No?”

“No. It feels selfish. And I think…” Can memories of shared lives flow both ways? He smiles at the thought. “I think my other self would be happy to know that we have ended up here.”

Shisui stares at him. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just…you’re really sappy sometimes, y’know?”

Itachi rolls his eyes and elbows him again. Shisui’s yelp dissolves into laughter as he catches Itachi around the waist and pulls him close. And then it’s quiet, both of them watching as the sun finally sinks out of sight.

“You wanna go home?” Shisui asks, warm by his ear.

Itachi thinks about it.

“No,” he says. “Not yet.”

The water is cold around their legs, but Itachi finds that he doesn’t mind it. Shisui is warm, and _alive_, and they are both still here.

He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of the waves. Somehow he knows there will be no nightmares for either of them tonight.


End file.
